


Shadowed Winter

by Who_First



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, pet human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:52:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_First/pseuds/Who_First
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch’s fearlings are complete bastards but Jack will learn that quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> >_

Never go for a walk without having a concise plan in mind. Actually, never do anything without having a reason for it, many different reasons preferably, it really is for your own good. 

Pitch would lack back on this moment, when he could have turned around back to his nice safe lair, with regret and the burning desire to smash his head in against a hard surface. He could have saved so much headache. 

Hindsight was a unique type of...woman. 

“No!”

Fear. Pitch’s head rose, hidden between frosted trees in the rising shadows, feeling his ever present shadows perking up. There it was. Drifting along with wind as if no one wanted it. Poor sad little creatures, what horror they must be going through, to create such rich and tasty emotions.

Shadows rushed ahead of Pitch, impatient little bastards, crawling along trees and speeding towards the screaming. 

Coming out into a lovely little clearing, short snow covered rock wall surrounding the water, and many trees for Pitch and his fearlings to hide around and between their shadows. It was the screaming children balancing precariously on the thin ice of the pond that had his strictest attention. 

Apparently Pitch was on the nice list this year, _and_ nice enough for an early present.

A quick second look confirmed that yes, he was, the only person around to enjoy the emotional bouquet. A sideways glance, eyeballing his drooling fearlings, and internal rephrasing. The only ones around were Pitch and his night mares. 

Ahem. Children. Yes...

Small and half starved looking, like the majority of the current human population, better than his adored Dark Ages; but not by much in this new continent. But more importantly;   children so very fearful amidst the sound of cracking ice.

The fearlings slid forwards, out of place and obvious, until they slipped between the ice cracks and surrounded the small creatures. Pitch watched as the brown haired boy eyed the cracks himself, thin lines sharper than his scythe blade, moving ever closer to the smaller girl child.

Soft brown eyes, wide and panicked, watched as the cracks moved beneath the wrong person. Emma was looking down, just as frozen, as water started beading up between her feet. Then the fear spiked as the creeping shadows were spotted, swirling between cracks and along their feet, bringing soft, lilting, happy sounding laughter and heavy hoof beats from invisible horses. 

Pitch slipped forwards, out from behind the trees, getting a better view of the action, as the boy tried comforting the small girl. He watched in interest as quick shadows of his night mares passed under the ice, dark shadows getting thicker with every exhale of fear.

The boy, young male, twisted to meet Pitch’s golden eyes, fear so heavy Pitch could hold his breath and still taste it. Not that he would waste any bit of the delightful emotion. But the description was still apt. 

But here was a boy that could _see_ him. One on the cusp of adulthood but still believing. It was almost shocking.

The shadows around the two children doubled again, completely ignoring Pitch’s internal musings, until the whole pond was filled with rolling shadows, apart from two small circles that let the children watch the ice around their feet. 

“Emma, don’t look down, look at me.” The male child had a voice that belonged to an older man, a slight surprise to Pitch, given the child’s thin and sharp features. “We’re going to have some fun okay?”

“Fun?” Such a soft and quavering voice she had. “Jack?”

Pitch slipped forward, irritated that the boy tried to ignore him, until he was paused just before the ice’s edge. 

“Are you frightened? Such thin cracks those are, and right beneath her.” Golden cat eyes were grinning smugly as the boy twitched and glanced over. “This is what happens when children disobey their parents and go off on their own.”

Emma didn’t respond, frightened eyes locked on her brother, while the brown eyed boy bit his lip and glared at Pitch. Another clink, ice spiderwebs brushing against encroaching shadows, Emma whimpered as she leaned forwards with outstretched hands.

“Emma don’t look at him,” Jack grinned again, almost hiding his fear, stretching his own hands out. “We can play some hopscotch, that’s fun.” 

“Jack.” Emma glanced around, “Stop playing.”

His staff was only a few steps away. He could make it. He had to make it, and then he could get Emma to safety. 

“Children that don’t understand the need for fear become a lesson for those that do.” Pitch warned cheerfully. “Poor, sweet, children. Such a shame.”

Jack’s foot came up, wavering back, awkwardly balancing before hopping sideways. 

 ** _Craaaaaaack_**.

A large crack was spreading between the two children. 

“I would be very careful about your next step. It would be so sad to cause her death.” Pitch grinned widely as the girl kept whimpering and the boy eyed the staff beyond his reach. “You are so very frightened.”

Jack’s desperate brown eyes met Pitch’s.

“A pity she will not need to fear much longer.”

Emma whimpered, her shadow twisting around to poke at the drops of water, spilling upwards against her ice-skates, short crackling noises letting loose the water hidden beneath.

“Not her.” Jack whispered, one more hop to his staff, he could use it on her, “I won’t let you take her.”

“Let, my dear boy?” Sharp teeth grew sharper as Pitch floated closer across the ice. “I’m just an innocent bystander, here for your delicious fear. Such a wonderful bouquet of fear, anger, and guilt at causing your dear sister’s death.”

Emma’s shadow looked like it was vanishing into the ice. The water about to break through and swallow her.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Jack couldn’t reach her, not without breaking the ice around her, but the man glided across the ice without a single crack.

“Alas it seems it must end.” “I’ll give you fear!”

The dark man stopped at the impertinent shout, giving Jack a slightly less bored look over his shoulder, the type of look a cat would give the mouse as it decides whether playtime is over. That type of look never ended well for the mouse.

“I’ll give you all the fear you ever want! But you save her!” Jack’s eyes caught and focused on where Pitch stood carelessly over thin ice. “Please.”

“Jack,” Emma whined softly, tears freezing on her eyelashes. “Please stop playing, I’m scared! I’m going to fall!”

“You’re not going to fall Emma!” Jack hopped sideways again, teeth biting his lip, cracks almost muffling his triumphant laugh as he hand surrounded aged wood.

Pitch snorted inelegantly at the display, what would happen now was in the hands of the child, turning away from the children. He could do nothing for the girl in any case, and if it was her fate to die, he would prefer not to be witness.

“Ready?” Pitch paused and waited at the boy’s voice. “It’s your turn, just... hop!”

Hands clenched, Pitch looked again, the shepherd's crook catching around the girls tiny body and launching her onto the thicker safe ice. It might have ended like that, if not for physics and equivalent reactions, and the boy stumbling forwards.

Emma fell to her knees, huge grin spreading across her face in delight and relief, shadows jumping away from the sudden absence of fear. Jack returned her grin, breath escaping in a brief laugh, _he’d done it_.

Then her eyes widened, grin vanishing, and the shadows rushed in before Jack could register the loudest crack yet.

“Jack!”

It burned. There was the split second, moving so very slowly that it made him want to shout hurry up, where Jack heard the ice break completely and his sister’s fear exploded in the shadows surrounding them. 

And then he burned. So very cold, and it felt like the bully three cabins down had punched his stomach, stealing his breath.

The light was just out of his reach, he could see the moon hiding above the surface, just out of reach. A few shadowy tendrils slid in, blocking the moon, snatching at his wrists and clothing until they were wrapped around his entire body. Then they slid over his eyes, taking everything.

The crash of a child crashing trough the thin ice was expected. But...

Pitch thought it was going to be the girl. A tragedy he was familiar with, but one he could do nothing about, the bogeyman could hardly touch a child that failed to believe in him. Even if he had wanted to help her, his shadows only moved through her, thrilled with her fear back unable to do anything other than feed on it.

Then the boy sacrificed himself.

And well, Pitch was a little hasty and reacted before he could remember he was an observer only. It was’t every day that he found someone that could see him. He would deny gasping when he vanished.

If he’d had the time to sigh he would have. Instead his, _hah_ , shadows were swarming and diving through the hole in the ice after the foolish child. Leaving Pitch on the solid ice with the sobbing girl, and with the bodily fluids she was dripping, Pitch was happy he was unseen for once. 

“Blasted creatures.”

Pitch was still rolling his eyes as the shadows crawled up his legs and retreated. 

 

Smashing into the ground wasn’t the most... _pleasant_... of ways to wake up, Jack discovered. In fact it hurt. A lot. And it needed to be repeated. Especially when the frozen, burning cold, water splashed down with him and proceeded to drench him and everything else around him.

“I do hope you haven’t frozen to death.” Pitch drawled slowly, hands clasped behind his back, head cocked as he eyed his new...something. “You will be here for sometime.”

A wet thud was the boy’s ingenious answer.

The smile dropped from Pitch’s face, a little abruptly, as the child only blinked slowly at him before falling unconscious. Unending fear was a lovely concept, and it wasn’t like he could return the thing, but what on his mares manes was he supposed to do with a human child? This never happened to the supposed ‘good guys’.

Pitch released his hands and started rubbing at the troublesome spot between his eyes. This is why one should never let emotions rule them. Instead, he had let the black and frozen muscle in his chest rule, and reacted like a, a... _a guardian_.

A wet cough reminded Pitch about the still living child.

Bending over, shadows lapping against his legs like excited puppies, Pitch poked at the boy’s pale flesh with one pointed finger. Pale and clammy. He was not so old that he forgot humans could freeze to death.

“Well. This is somewhat problematic.”

Of course he had many theories on how to deal with said problem, but there was still the annoying muscle in his chest that twinged at the thought of simply dropping the boy back in the pond where he would drown.

His shadows were now nudging at their newest creature, and Pitch could feel some of the older fearlings, the ones that were self aware _and_ well aware that they were older than he, coming out in interest. The smaller ones, his fearlings, slowly morphed into a blanket over the child and settled in.

Once again disgustingly cute. What was the world coming too when shadows would attempt to protect a child .

“Shadows are a creation of light,” Pitch eyed them in disgust, as he lectured, “We lack the ability to produce heat. There is no point to this _cuddling_!”

Silence gathered, the young creatures acting ashamed, until it was broken again by the elders. One specifically with a human blanket, well loved to go by the multicolored and mismatched patches that could be construed as an entirely new creation, completely ignoring Pitch as it dropped the blanket on the child. 

“Where did you even find that?” Pitch would have stared, aghast, at the shadow’s ingenuity. Only he was still blinded by the bright colors. “Did you steal it from some innocent child?”

Pitch actually felt his heart warm at the thought. The shadows could be adorably sweet when they wanted.

“But that doesn’t mean we are keeping him.” Pitch added sharply. “I’ll most likely kill him in the morning.”

The blanket stealing shadow, old as the rocks around them, twisted in a vaguely human shape, matching Pitch’s glare. It had a few too many glowing eyes to be at all human, or anything close to comforting. Behind it his fearlings crowded close, most returning to prodding and examining the human. 

Whatever Pitch’s confused internal feelings, and the fearlings interest, it seemed the boy would live. The previously icy and pale skin had changed to a sickeningly healthy shade of pink. In the pit of his stomach, Pitch was beginning to feel an emotion he had ignored for centuries, utterly disturbing.

Multiple red eyes twisted, making the Bogeyman again press against the spot between his eyes, shadows gathering and lifting the small form. 

“Do not look at me like that.” Pitch snarled back, “Shadows can not care for a human.”

It was something he knew well. No matter what form they may take, the fear loving shadows would never be human, and were incapable of understanding human emotions. They could only destroy the things they took interest in. Love was fictional in their world.

“You will destroy the child. What purpose would that serve?”

The shadow shoved the boy into Pitch’s arms. Making a sound quite similar to the one a full tiger gives to the curious sheep resting against it’s side. A decidedly new and dreadful sound.

Yet there was the child to worry about first, plotting fearlings later.

“We shall see.” Pitch swirled, _almost_ looking like the British aristocrat he sounded like, stalking away with his new charge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments! They really do make me write faster <3

Pitch, the most feared immortal of all time, was currently playing the babysitter to the fearlings new pet. He felt some pity for the boy, as humorous as the situation was, he was well aware of what the shadows could do. On purpose or by accident. There were many things the boy would need to learn quickly if he decided to try his hand at surviving.

It would be much too depressing to just put him back under the frozen lake surface. 

Natural horses could not snicker, very well, but the shadow versions could. Pitch pinched the bridge of his nose. He was already becoming _fond_ of the creature. What self respecting fear denizen did _that_?

Looming shadows snorted, blasted creatures twining around his legs, before giving Pitch their own askance looks.

“Do not look at me like that.” Pitch snarled at the usurper. “I am not the one who decided a human was needed. You do realize they need to eat.”

_“Eat what?”_

_“Food, human, food.”_

_“We can steal that.”_

_“Why bother?”_

_“Can’t it go without?”_

His headache was turning into a migraine as the bickering shadows continued. How new and interesting. And to think he once thought that as an immortal he would no longer be susceptible to such pains. After five minutes with his new associates he had sadly been corrected.

“Hello?”

Shadows froze, humanoid and equine shaped, before fleeing behind Pitch into a giant black void. Normally there would be some small pride in the creatures coming together for once, that pride was currently ashamed the creatures came together to use him as a shield against a child.

Half frozen, still damp, dragging the patchwork blanket like a child going to it’s parents for protection from the monsters under the bed.

Pitch prided himself on his inherent ability for irony.

“Where am I?” The lower lip stuck out, anger flashing across his face. “Where’s my sister?”

“I have no idea.” Pitch hooked his hands behind him stalking closer. “She ran off quite quickly, after you fell through the ice. Poor child was so scared.”

“Leave her alone!” He stepped forwards, blanket dropping behind him, hands fisting. “You said you would!”

“I said nothing of the sort.” Pitch retorted sharply, shadows raising up in affront behind him. “You would do well to hold your tongue.”

“Then I’ll protect her!” The boy shouted back. “I’ll-”

“Why do you insist on believing I am after her?” The headache would crush his skull at this rate. “I have no interest or need of her.”

“Oh.” He paused, shivered, staring back in confusion. “Fine. Then I’ll just go home.”

Please something save him from the idiocies of children and shadows.

“I have little care of what you do.” Pitch retorted, ignoring the giggling _liar_ whispered into his ear. “I simply point out that if you go _home_ you would, in fact, _die_.”

Large brown eyes stared at him while the lip wobbled.

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Pitch paused, counting internally, calming before pushing his hair back and trying again. “Your sister is perfectly fine. Your family will morn, but they will cope and move on.”

Tears gathered and overflowed silently.

Pitch would not bend at the site. The amount of pleading and pitiful faces he had seen over the eons was a truly staggering amount. One wet pair of utterly devastated and horribly accepting brown eyes could not make him feel pity for the poor child.

No. No pity at all.

“Who are you?” Was asked pitifully. 

“Pitch Black. King of Fear.” Pitch spread his arms wide, encouraging his fearlings to rear back and look impressive and ferocious over the human. 

What they mostly did was snort and look bored. Much like real horses. Still the boy seemed sad and mostly frightened and that’s what counted, Pitch reminded himself.

“And your name?” Pitch asked, eyes rolling, after a moment of silence. 

“Oh.” Brown eyes, hair, the whole child was in shades of brown apart from the pale skin, were wobbling again. “Jackson Overland Frost...sir.”

“Frost?” Pitch eyed the mostly frozen human child. “I think not. You look more like a lost rabbit, than a snow creature.”

Fearlings snickered behind him, he would be sure to remind them of hiding behind him, splitting apart and sliding along the floor and walls. The abandoned blanket floated amidst the shadows until it dropped on Jack’s head. 

A pause, for the appropriate appreciation of the fumbling, panicked dance, until the boy’s tousled brown head popped up in the folds of fabric.

“I should tell you a story.” Pitch mused, hand stroking, his long chin. “All important endeavors start with an appropriate tale of woe.”

Jack stared at him, not at all cute with the blanket draped around him and cooing shadows at his feet, mostly blankly and confused. 

“There was once a god called Phobus, worshiped for controlling fear.” Pitch twisted and stared at the boy. “The world is forever filled with fear, every one of my fearlings, is one of them. Can you understand just how much fear there is in the world?”

Jack paled, okay looked shocked as there wasn’t much paler the frozen boy could get, but in either case Pitch was pleased to note that he was duly impressed.

“The oldest are older than me.” Pitch twisted aside, tall and thin, letting Jack see the other human shapes coming out of the shadows around them. “Fear of death, of pain, of the _dark_.” 

The last was spat, as Pitch recalled just how he came to be the Nightmare King, and how long he had resided in that same darkness. It was enough to make him irritable, as the boy stared at the third one as well, feeling long ago screams against his skin, echoes of past fear. It was ancient.

“So?” Jack asked quietly, staring nervously at what looked like a puppy prancing around his feet. “Why...?”

“Why does it involve you?” Pitch frowned internally. His minions were _cooing_. Shadows do not _coo_. “At the moment it appears you shall be staying some time. In such a case you should know _some_ history. It will afford some safety to you when dealing with the various fears.”

That was allowed to sink in what obviously was a thick skull. Pitch despaired of ever having adequate associates, ones that might possibly keep up with his intellect. 

One of the old ones acted, separating, and spilling forwards like ink across the floor. Making the boy stagger backwards, hands clutching at the warm cloth, as a leering fanged face loomed up with burning eyes.

“ _Good to meet you, Jack_ ”

The boy’s eyes clearly defied gravity by staying inside his skull, when they widened further at the creature bending over him.

Pitch dropped his head in his hands and counted to ten in every spoken language. Communication is important. 

“Go away before you scare him senseless.” Pitch sighed heavily. “Ignore him.”

The red eyed, fanged man leered again, claw flicking the wet hair out Jack’s face.

“Now!”

And collapsed into a cloud of smoke, curling around the boy before vanishing back into the larger pool of shadows. Pitch fumed, teeth gritting, wishing he could the fire fear. 

“You like me.” Jack whispered, wonder coloring his tones, eyes round and huge. 

“I most certainly do not.” Pitch jerked back, appalled at the idea. “I merely dislike the idea of useless death. That has nothing to do with you.”

“You got me a blanket.”

“That was the fearlings! I had nothing to do with it!”

“And now you’re trying to keep me safe and teach me.” Jack’s brown is were filled with wonder now. “

Pitch’s mouth hung open. Somewhere there was something giggling at his misfortune. And he would send all his night mares to it once he found out.


	3. Chapter 3

The first days of cohabitation passed much the same way. Headache inducing confusion, questions upon questions without end, _happy_ things, and the dreaded cuddling incident.

Which Would Not Be Talked About. Ever.

The boy did seemed to understand he would no longer see his family, and to stop asking about them. Something Pitch could assume to be from his gross descriptions of what would happen if Jack did indeed see them. Such as many tentacled and quite possibly beasts ripping holes through the fabric of time and space that meeting left. Bad ends. 

After a few sleepless nights of overheard crying and moping after said conversations, one of his Fearlings accidentally let the boy find one of North’s stolen globes. Conveniently watching a little house in Burgess, where life was inordinately depressed, but easier in other ways. 

It meant nothing in the long run. 

What was actually surprising was that the shadows seemed to be actually fond of the human. Pitch had the oddest idea that his Fearlings, along with the old ones, were working with the boy to further plague him.

Normally this would end terribly, screaming, chaos, the dark ages once again. Something Pitch was usually all for. But Jack was bringing up memories he’d done his best to suppress long ago. 

Something the old ones were familiar with. He liked children. More from a distance, but after they became able to hold an almost intelligent conversation, Pitch was reliably fond of the blasted creatures. 

And Jack was actually, somewhat, intelligent apart from his _many_ faulty conclusions. 

Pitch sighed, behind him there was a long pronounced thudding noise of passing bodies akin to the amount of noise a cat could make when bored, which is why he was dreading the do gooding imbeciles finding out.

Obviously they would most likely come to the wrong conclusion that Jack was his hostage. 

He was the Fearlings’ hostage. Or pet. 

But either way...

Trouble was bound to come on quick black wings. When least wanted.

~ ~ ~ ~

Now that Jack was more familiar, Pitch was quick to teach paying attention to everything, he could pick differences in the separate shadows. The night mares were easiest of course, skeletally thin horses with smirking eyes, and it was a little adorable how they skittered around pressing against Pitch and himself like huge cats. 

In the little bit that Jack had known Pitch, he was already convinced that the ancient spirit was secretly a cat in another life, it made sense that his creations would have the cat similarities too. 

Just one of the many thoughts Jack was waiting to tell Pitch about, to watch what funny faces he made.

Then there were the shadows that were easier to tell apart. The really old ones that did whatever they felt like. Jack started giving them real names, to which Pitch rolled his eyes and called them by the fear they represented. Then after Jack started calling the fire fear, Firey Bastard, Pitch broke in an renamed them ones he thought worked best. 

He’d also received a lecture on swearing being ‘unfit’ and ‘pedantic’. And other words that Jack ignored on the basis Pitch was a moody bastard.

Trailing behind the Fearlings was more interesting anyway.

~ ~ ~ ~

Pitch was groaning. The two oldest Fears, of death and fire, were missing along with a number of his own Fearlings. And the boy.

And the morning had started out so nicely, waking to the sweet sounds of terrorized children, what more could he ask for in his life. 

Note the sarcasm. 

The Fearlings that should have returned with the morning’s crying children, while their siblings effected the half of the world now in darkness. The fear business was far more difficult than any other, like for example, once a year gift giving. 

And how Pitch wished his plans would move a little faster, but patience was a virtue, and one needed for bargaining with the Fears. 

Now where were those blasted creatures. 

He was getting such a bad feeling.

~ ~ ~ ~

Jack’s eyes widened, hands clutching at the rough mane, as they moved out of the safe shadows. Well out just enough for Jack to see the bright and busy workshop. It was filled with people walking, running, back and forth. 

Little men the height of his knees, in hideous green and red uniforms and hats, and huge giant furry creatures warbling and growling as they worked. All the smells and the noise, shocking after the tomb like air of Pitch’s realm.

A hair raising tingling on his back reminded Jack that there were Fears looking over his shoulder at the happy mess. It reminded him of something Pitch had said. There were always shadows somewhere. 

And his were currently streaking along the floor towards a giant ball.

Jack twitched forwards out of the protective darkness. Staring at what looked like a map of the world. It was huge with thousands of blinking lights twinkling merrily across the surface. 

It was so different from anything he’d ever seen. Jack moving forwards without thinking, carefully avoiding the painfully colored midgets, cautiously lifting a hand to the stunning map. He didn’t even know what to call it, so different from the maps he’d seen before.

And it was _warm_.

Jack’s mouth opened a little in awe, hand still hovering over the warm...thing. He hadn’t even noticed, but this was the first time he was warm since falling into the ice.

Falling and feeling the cold invade.... Jack wasn’t completely over the whole drowning thing. 

And when he touched this... map thingy... it was like his mother’s hugs. Warm and enveloping. 

Tears slowly slid from the corners of brown eyes. 

Jack sniffed, long and hard, trying to keep the snot and more tears from falling. Something nudged at his hand, fingers digging into corse sand by instinct, reminding him to breath between inward gasps. 

It also reminded him where he was. And the dead quiet was a lot more obvious. 

Glancing around Jack saw the tiny people and the furry people all staring at him. Mostly there were mouths hanging open, plus one of the furry men shaking his fist at the ceiling, and oh... the large guy in red scratching at his bald head. 

The rough texture under his hand vanished, wet eyes looking down in time to see the fears nesting in his shadow. Shoving at each other, pulling in to make room, and the cold sand burrowing into his shoes. 

“I was just looking!”

Jack backed up until his back hit the warm ball, eyes flying back and forth across the workroom, arms wrapping around himself. Tears were still sliding down his cheeks, and his nose was starting to burn holding back the snot.

Meanwhile the cold was crawling up his legs and all the warmth was vanishing and he was _never going to see his mother again, or get one of her hugs and Emma was going_ -

Falling to his knees, Jack started sobbing, still hugging himself while the fears crawled around beneath his clothing.

The whole room took a step backwards.

Nichols St. North famed Russian explorer, possible pirate, and lover of everything. And he had not a clue on how to deal with crying children. Or child. One that should not be in the workshop.

North took a step forwards, hand half raised in what might have been a soothing gesture, when the shadows reacted. And all hell broke loose.

Shadows burst through Jack’s clothing, whipping through the air, sand flying into shocked faces, whipping against skin and fur alike. 

Death screamed, high and hair raising like the Banshee Pitch named it, shadows pulling up into black wings. Spreading and blocking Jack from sight, as the scream echoed, breaking glass and rupturing ear drums. 

The small elves started running around in terror, yeti’s growling and grabbing at furry heads in pain, while North started shouting and trying to restore order.

The black angel widened, blocking out every inch of light, spines and sharp edges spreading along the angled wings. More shadows turned to wisps of smoke, curling around the creature, bringing the stench of smoke and burned flesh. Twisting into a column, then diving down, covering, hiding Jack and vanishing into the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, but an update! I'm actually working on this again

Jack woke up, slowly, staring in curiosity at the bars right ahead. A slow glance around revealed he was lounging in one of the hanging cages, legs stuck out through the bars and hanging in open space. There was also his warm blanket carefully tucked around his body and a large cushy pillow between his back and more bars.

It was rather comfy.

At least until Jack noticed how much his head hurt, all stuffed feeling, and his throat felt rough and dry. It reminded him how the bright ball map had caused him to cry. And that made the young man pull his knees up tight against his chest and hide his face.

Beneath him, and unseen in the normal gloom of the realm, Pitch sighed heavily and refused to acknowledge and creatures trying to curry favor by curling around his ankles. He did not want to deal with this. This.... this was more emotion than he was equipped to deal with it.

One might be surprised, but even before he had become embroiled in the Shadows, Pitch had never been the best at cheering people up. War did not call for that skill fortunately.

“Jack.” On silent command, or because his fearlings were still being nice, the hanging cage lowered smoothly.

Why he actually had the cages and where they had come from, Pitch did not know and was not about to question. It was better that he not consciously understand the oddities of the Fears. As that was a short path to insanity.

And large, wet, brown eyes were now staring at him with soul sucking sadness.

Dear fears above.

All of his shadowed minions reared back and fled. And Pitch would never forgive the creatures for abandoning-

The cage clicked open, and really now it might as well not have any locks the way it just clicked open at the slightest thought, and Jack spilled out with a near ton of blankets and folded into Pitch like a starving man on food.

“I do-don’t wan-”

Warm arms wrapped around Pitch’s waist, sobbing snot covered face shoved into his chest, and the boy clung with all the strength in his lanky body.

Pitch sputtered, eyes flashing around the room, arms held above the brown head, and desperately wished for anyone else to be in his place. The sobbing, and by all the happy thoughts, he could feel snot and other liquids ripping through his robes and into his skin.

His face remained pained, horribly unhappily screwed up, but Pitch let his hands pat at the boy’s back, much like one would pat a being so disturbing it was beyond comprehension.

“I want to go home.” Brown eyes, filled and overflowing with fat tears stared into Pitch’s own dark eyes. “Please.”

For a brief moment Pitch thought of another child, long since lost to the ages, and accepted that the snot would never come out of his skin. Instead he folded his arms closer around the human boy and sighed, eyeballing the shadows starting to creep back.

“If I were to return you, you would only drown beneath that cursed pond.”

One of the shadows slid forwards, curling around the mismatched boots they’d previously stolen for the boy.

“We....” Pitch brushed a hand over the wild brown hair as the boy calmed and burrowed closer. “Did not think, and stole you between life and death, and can not give you back.”

“Is,” Jack sniffed, and Pitch closed his eyes desperately not watching as the boy wiped his nose on the black cloth in his fist. “Is that why huge beasts would eat the earth if I went home?”

“Multi tentacled beasts.” Pitch corrected absently. He sneered at an Old fear that came from sailors. “That would destroy humanity and eat their pitiful brains.”

“Oh.” Jack sat back a little, hand still wrapped in the dark robes, and looked away. “There was this globe... and it was like my mom’s hugs.”

Pitch remained silent, to busy inwardly cursing do gooding guardians that could not be bothered to make sure impressionable children were kept away from the magic artifacts.

“I...” Pitch eyeballed more of the shadows now curled up against Jack’s back, and looked away from the red face. “It is not my area of specialty, but I am willing to... attempt...hugs... if you shall attempt to withhold crying.”

The sheer disgust in Pitch’s voice at the word ‘hugs’ was enough to surprise a laugh out of Jack. A wet and soft laugh, but it was a start.


End file.
